e
beside me. A second look assured me that he was the man who met me at
the edge of the wood that morning. I suppose he remembered me, for
he looked away and moved from me. I left the bank, and found an open
carriage waiting at the door. In it sat the lady of whom we speak. I
took a turn along the pavement and back again. The Frenchman entered the
carriage; they drove away.'

Hubert's eyes were veiled; he breathed through his nostrils. Again there
was silence.

'Mr. Eldon,' resumed the vicar, 'I was a man of the world before I
became a Churchman; you will notice that I affect no professional tone
in speaking with you, and it is because I know that anything of the kind
would only alienate you. It appeared to me that chance had made me
aware of something it might concern you to hear. I know nothing of the
circumstances of the case, merely offer you the facts.'

'I thank you,' was Hubert's reply in an undertone.

'It impressed me, that letter ready stamped for Wanley Manor. I thought
of it again after the meeting in Paris.'

'I understand you. Of course I could explain the necessity. It would be
useless.'

'Quite. But experience is not, or should not be, useless, especially
when commented on by one who has very much of it behind him.'

Hubert stood up. His mind was in a feverishly active state, seeming to
follow several lines of thought simultaneously. Among other things, he
was wondering how it was that throughout this conversation he had been
so entirely passive. He had never found himself under the influence of
so strong a personality, exerted too in such a strangely quiet way.

'What are your plans--your own plans?' Mr. Wyvern inquired.

'I have none.'

'Forgive me;--there will be no material difficulties?'

'None; I have four hundred a year.'

'You have not graduated yet, I believe?'

'No. But I hardly think I can go back to school.'

'Perhaps not. Well, turn things over. I should like to hear from you.'

'You shall.'

Hubert continued his walk to the Manor. Before the entrance stood
two large furniture-vans; the doorway was littered with materials of
packing, and the hall was full of objects in disorder, footsteps made
a hollow resonance in all parts of the house, for everywhere the long
wonted conditions of sound were disturbed. The library was already
dismantled; here he could close the door and walk about without fear
of intrusion. He would have preferred to remain in the open air, but a
summe